House of wolves

Lashing winds raged around the lighthouse and the monsters' eyes glowed in the darkness. The howls and growls were deafening. Their traces were everywhere: on the walls, on the floors, on their bodies. Some ran as if the devil himself was chasing them; some fought with each other, so fast that their silhouettes blurred, a single, tangled ball of fur and teeth, ready to tear each other to pieces; others lay in a dark corner, whimpering, twitching, ignored.

Camilla backed away until her back hit the door. Although she knew it was futile, her hand pressed down on the handle, but the door remained locked. She was paralysed; how could she move, how could she turn her back on these beasts? And yet she knew she had to run. One of the monsters caught her gaze; yellow eyes pierced into blue ones, and she took off, racing, up the spiral staircase, racing as fast as her legs would carry her, pushing past the pain when her sides began to sting. On every floor, the same horrible howls, the same blazing eyes. The monsters were everywhere. But Camilla kept running until she reached the bottom of the stairs and found herself in a narrow corridor.

At the end of the corridor was a door, and gathering the last of her strength, she ran towards it. She wrenched the door open and stood in a small chamber. From the wide open windows, a gust of wind hit her. The floorboards in front of the windows were wet from the rain. Camilla approached the window and tried to catch her breath. Raindrops splashed on her face and the wind blew through her hair. The sea was in turmoil. The reflection of the moon trembled on the pitch-black waves. Lightning bolts lit up the darkness. If she hadn't been so afraid, she might have been able to marvel at the natural spectacle, the forces of nature. For a brief, desperate moment, she envisioned turning round and running down the spiral staircase, only this time the door of the lighthouse miraculously opened for her and fell into the lock behind her, leaving the wicked creatures locked inside the lighthouse... but that was nothing more than a fantasy. There was no escape. How much time did Camilla have before the monsters would find her hiding place? It was clear they had been here before. The destruction had not spared this chamber. The wallpaper hanging in tatters on the wall, the long scratches across the floor and the smell that still lingered in the air despite the open window gave it away. Camilla slumped down in a corner of the chamber. She didn't know how long she sat there in the dark, listening. At some point she noticed how tired her limbs were, how her eyelids became heavier, and although she couldn't have believed she could fall asleep, the exhaustion finally won and she drifted off into a restless sleep. She dreamt of the monsters, yellow eyes, sharp teeth and steaming breath.

When Camilla woke up, the storm had subsided. There was a wet flannel on her forehead and a blanket draped over her curled-up body. She sat up and saw her mother sitting opposite her in the other corner, leaning against the wall, her eyes closed, a steaming bowl in her hands. As Camilla moved, her mother stirred too. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at her daughter.

"You're awake," she said, "how do you feel?"   

The memories of last night came flooding back: the panic, the running, the horror.

"The monsters," Camilla whispered; she was hoarse.

"Are they gone?"

Her mum looked at her. She stood up and went to Camilla. "Drink," she said and handed her the bowl. Camilla put the bowl to her lips.

"You split your mind. You couldn't understand what was happening to you... the potion will help you remember."

And no sooner had she finished the sentence than other memories suddenly came flooding back to Camilla. Memories of pain, of incredible, stabbing pain in all her limbs, waves of pain rolling over her as she lay whimpering on the floor of that chamber, fur beginning to sprout on her skin, her hands deforming... wood splintering beneath her hands, no, her paws, ... she was with her friends, they had chased through the lighthouse together, out of their minds with pain, driven by a single desire to shred, to tear, to destroy, willing to do anything to release the pain ...

"No", Camilla whispered. She stared at her hands holding the empty bowl, normal, human hands, and suddenly noticed bluish spots shimmering on her knuckles. "It can't be..."

"I'm not a wolf ... I'm just a girl."

"The girl in you was afraid," Mother said. She stroked Camilla's head. "She hid in this chamber and repressed your memory of the wolf."

They were both silent for a while after that. The open window let in a light breeze and drew morning sunbeams on the grain of the wood.

"Will it always be like this? The pain and ..."

Camilla's gaze travelled over the torn wallpaper and her voice trailed off.

"Look at me..."

For the first time, Camilla recognised the wolf in her mother's eyes.

"It's not me you have to ask," her mother said.

Camilla blinked. She put the bowl down beside her. The blanket slipped off her shoulders as she stood up. Slowly, she walked to the window. She closed her eyes, opened up and searched for the wolf.

She stood naked in the morning sun, feeling the mild sunshine on her skin, the dried blood between her legs. She had been afraid last night... but she had never felt such a fire raging inside her before. She had been afraid that the flames would burn her alive. That power was still there. It flowed through her veins and warmed her. She stood naked in the morning sun, feeling the mild sunshine on her skin, the dried blood between her legs. But now she knew that the flames would not devour her. The wolf did not have to smother the girl and the girl did not have to smother the wolf to live. She was not torn, she was whole, and as she took a deep breath, a wolfish smile spread across her lips.